


They gonna do it

by DrawingistMusashi



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Roughness, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrawingistMusashi/pseuds/DrawingistMusashi
Summary: Cyclonus is horny (and not in the normal way) Rodimus has to put up or shut up, and also support his crew.All characters involved are kind of jerks but in different ways.





	They gonna do it

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is a flawed jerk. Cyc is something of an old perv behind closed doors. Could easily be seen as coercion to sex though that was not my intent, Rodimus is just flustered and awkward. Rodimus also gets sucked and fucked till he’s silly/speechless. Also a content warning for tons of analogies I’m sorry, not sorry. Also so many epithets.   
> I wrote this entirely for my own benefit but was asked to share.

Ratchet was waiting beside the exit to the medical bay as Cyclonus left after his daily visit with Tailgate. “As I told you, he needs rest. So do you. I know this not easy for you to hear, but relax for once.” With any other visitor, he might have given perhaps a comforting pat to the shoulder. In the Textrihexians case, it was only a solemn nod. Returning the gesture, the purple jet skulked down the hallway to his hab suite. Their optics never met. Although such a thing was not considered unusual for him. 

The doctor, bless him, didn’t seem to understand what he was going through. Not that he could have been expected to. It had been a few days since the ‘special treatment’ brought the disposal mech back from the brink. Since that time, he’d not felt guilt, or sorrow, nor a great deal of anguish. Rather, to his own dismay, he was filled with a horrible charge and the accompanying drive to release it. Of course he had tried self servicing, but he’d never found that particular activity to be enjoyable, even less so when it just left him overly sensitized, and needing to do it repeatedly just to carry on. 

Being of the old school mindset, the endeavours had been entirely dry up to this point. Quietly ‘borrowing” a charge sapper from someone else. However, it wasn’t working, or at least the charge wouldn’t stay gone, and as he looked at Tailgate’s brave, but frail little frame, he found himself burning with shame at the ideas that crossed his mind. Lucid fantasies played out, of his own sharp white digits splayed over the white and teal, scratching the paint, devouring the feedback as they coupled together, making the minibot cry out in pleasure pain. All of these thoughts were pushed back in disgust, due to his current lack of consciousness. 

He reached the room quickly enough, his ‘mess with me at your own peril’ aura plainly evident for anyone who might have dared as he whisked through the halls. It was effortless at this point. Between his self loathing over the lecherous thoughts he’d had about Tailgate and the charge that simply would not quit, his normal unapproachable demeanor was made completely impenetrable. Cyclonus was left to his thoughts, and about resort to the charge sapper again when there was a knock at his door. 

Due to the fact that it took more than a few seconds for the door to open, Captain Rodimus of the Lost Light and the Epic Quest to find the Knights of Cybertron, was left tapping his pedes impatiently. “Hey, Cyclonus, I know you’re in there. Saw you on the security feed...I’d like to talk to you, face to face, open up.” Meaning it literally and figuratively- although his request was cut short by a quietly fuming jet. 

“What do you want, Rodimus? I’m not in a mood to play games at the moment.” Growled slowly through nearly pursed lips, the Captain held up his servos disarmingly.   
“Hey, as I was trying to say, I just want to talk. Can I...uh, come in?” A curious ridge raised as he tried to get a look of the room, seeing nothing but a dim light beside one recharge slab and the many stars in the window. 

 

There was a sudden foreign tingling across his plating as he examined the young show-off. Although begrudgingly so, he had to admit, Rodimus was very conventionally attractive. In his current state, this made him want to spend even less time around the braggart.  
“Fine.” Ceasing his impression of a blockade, Cyclonus stepped back to allow the sports car inside the suite, casting a suspicious glance down each hall before closing the door. There was no use in denying him entrance anyway, he’d only force the door open or worse, pester him until he gave in anyway. 

 

Rodimus looked around dumbly mute for a moment, not entirely sure what it was he had been expecting. Not Decepticon propaganda, or anything like that, but by all accounts, it was a completely normal sui-wait was that a charge sapper beside the berth? He’d never considered Cyclonus to be the type, then again, the mech certainly had the mysterious thing going on for him. Although, some mechs liked that. So again, why was there a device for self servicing beside his slab? 

That particular train of thought was acutely interrupted by Cyclonus himself glaring loudly, something which only Ultra Magnus was better at doing. “Aaha, right..Well,” cutting him off, the jet glowered down at him.   
“What do you want?”   
Struggling for all of a moment to get some kind of lubrication in his intake, the sports model continued on.  
“I know that you aren’t usually Mr. Cuddly warm feelings type, but it seemed like you were doing okay for a bit after Tailgate stabilized. Now you’re back to” he gestured at all of the purple not-Decepticon “This! Scaring everyone who so much as looks at you, giving off worse vibes than a badly tuned keytar, I just want to know what’s wrong.”  
Straightening up his posture a bit, attempting to look more authoritative, “You are a part of my crew too, and it’s my job to help you. Do we need to book you an appointment with Rung or something?” 

The Textrihexian had managed to go this entire time with only minimal growling, though the rumble from within his chassis became louder incrementally. Closing the distance between them in a single step, there was now just barely enough room for half a servo between each of their chest. “You...you want to know why I’m ‘grumpy’? Oh, I’ll tell you Rodimus-” Stopping before his epic rant even had a chance to snowball, a lick of electricity arched between his fist and his sides, unseen but most definitely felt. It was a distraction, that or divine inspiration. 

That delicious little zap triggered a slew of new thoughts. Why was he fuming over Tailgate’s body, and the possibility of betraying his trust and honor? Here, delivered practically tied up with a bow, was a mech who had a reputation for getting around that even he knew of. Although the warrior would have strongly preferred someone whose company he could tolerate at least...Perhaps it was right that instead he had a partner like this. Someone who could help alleviate this damnable charge, who he could rutt against in all his pent up frustration without cause for worry. 

The deepness of his voice changed, from a growl of frustration to a near purr. “You see..captain,” The way those words rolled off his glossa, Rodimus found a shiver tingling up his spinal strut. “Because I jump started Tailgate, my spark has been behaving erratically and I’ve been irritatingly charged for days now. I’ve tried to relieve it myself, but toys just aren’t doing the trick.” Pale lips hung open as the sports car attempted to process the information. Clearly, he was having a audio-visual hallucination, because if he wasn’t, that meant that ancient warrior and infamous stick-in-the-mud Cyclonus might actually be hitting on him.

With a rare smirk, the old jet lifted the bottom of the dropped jaw up, tracing along the side with his thumb. A tiny zap of static passing between their frames at the slight friction. “Hmm, so you see, Captain Rodimus-” By Primus and the guiding hand, he had to stop saying it like that or the hot rod’s knee actuators might give out on him, “I could use your help in this little..matter...If half of what I’ve heard is true, you’d be a perfect candidate to help me release my charge.” The offer was punctuated by a flare of EM field which he normally kept so closely guarded. It had the effect of making the young captain’s optics glow as he swallowed nervously against nothing. 

When his higher cognitive processors finally kicked in again, it occurred to him that somehow one of the mechs that had known him for the least amount of time had also heard the extremely elaborate imaginings of his past sexual adventures. When someone was as popular, as daring, and even half as pretty as he had always been, mechs tended to talk. They also tended to speculate, in his particular case, speculate wildly.   
Rodimus was quite sure that the legends and sordid tales of his interfacing experience had traveled even wider than he could ever hope to.  
The problem with that being that they were all lies. Or more politely, extremely bent versions of the truth. In all his life there had been but a handful of intimate experiences that he’d followed through with. None of them on that spectacular of a note either. But what was a mech to do? Deny everyone of their idea of Rodimus, the glorious and god-like stud? Rarely, if ever, did anyone try to see if the mech was as the myths told, too shy or put off by his demeanor. 

 

That being said, he was but a few seconds from doing exactly that to Cyclonus. Because it was one thing that he was an angry not-Decepticon with sharp claws and a penchant for violence, it was a whole other that he had particularly well aimed venomous words. Or lack there of. Scratches, he could handle, but after the devastation that came from allowing Drift to take the fall for him, of burning out his half of the Matrix, of letting a whole moon full of new sparks go unborn and his crew die while he was helpless, what he couldn’t handle was another blow to his pride. Especially one that entailed Cyclonus of all mechs, telling him he was scrap at interfacing.

Ready to finally disrobe his cloak of bravado to save what little of his wounded ego he had left, the red mech put a firm hand on one shoulder to push himself back against. “I’m sorry Cyclonus, but I don’t think I’m the right one to help you out with this, maybe you could violently frag Whirl into the ground, he’d probably like that.”  
Looking down at him curiously, red optics squinted in consideration. “Yes...he probably would..however, he’d also probably never leave me alone again, or at least, attempt to sexually assault me instead of just assaulting me.” 

Although the charge was demanding of him at the moment, the jet found it within himself to fake a pitifully expression. More mocking than pitiful though, he crooned, “And just why is it that you couldn’t help me with this? Am I not Autobot looking enough for your taste?” Before the red and yellow mech could come up with a decent retort, the old warrior stole the servo still pushing against his shoulder, and brought it close to his mouth, licking over the joints even as it raised his charge up further.   
In a dark and faux sympathetic tone, he murmured close to the captain, “I thought it was all good little Autobot’s fantasy to be taken, taken by a big bad Decepticon type. Someone to make them scream out and forget their precious morals..and while I may not be branded,” he took the servo that had cradled the young captain’s face to bring them together by the pulling at the spoilers on his back. “I think I could fit the bill.” Bringing his lips tantalizingly close to red audials, “What do you say?” 

 

The younger mech said nothing. At first. However his optics had dimmed considerably as the glossa trailed across his digits. One didn’t need to be a medic to find stimulation across such delicate joints enjoyable. Now there was even less space between them than when he’d begun to retreat. As the words, and the implication of them spread over his audials like melted gold, another shiver trailed up his spinal strut. That one, the old jet could feel in their proximity. Chuckling darkly as his captain writhed in his grasp.  
“Ahaha, well, I would say that youuu are handsome, yes, of course! But you still wouldn’t want me anywhere near your equipment.” Rodimus burbled. Scrap he was really close, and the longer they stayed like this the warmer he got. Even in his nervous state he could practically taste the excess charge rolling off of Cyclonus. It was inviting, terribly inviting. 

 

There was another curious squinting of optics from the jet. “Ooooh?” Velvety voice currently doing a number on the captain’s willpower, “Why is that, pray tell?” Rodimus nearly squeaked out the first words, “WELL, you see that is, I’m! Ssscrap- OKAY, you really want to know?” 

Cyclonus hummed something affirmative sounding, and the younger mech took the opportunity to slip out of his grasp. Shoulders slumped low, he muttered, “This..this doesn’t leave this room, okay? But- I’m...I’m really terribly average. At interfacing-” He corrected, “Only at that, I’m pretty awesome at everything else, of course.” Although by that point, he wasn’t fooling anyone, not even himself.

The older mech hummed and looked over him appraisingly, not deterred per say-but caught off guard by the confession. Finally asking, “So what?” 

Shocked, the captain looked up , “What do you mean, what? I just told you I’m not actually anything special at interfacing, so what do you mean by what?” Behind red filters, optics nearly rolled back into his head. He held onto the younger mech’s shoulder like a teacher giving a stern lecture to a beloved student. “What I am hearing is that you lack your normal spectacularly misplaced self confidence in one area, but you don’t seem to dislike the idea of interfacing with me. Or am I wrong?” 

“Slag Cyclonus, I know you are all revved but...just never figured you for this forward.” Pausing for a moment, he bit the inside of his cheek and actually thought the proposition over again. “I mean..for an old model, you don’t look half bad and..your voice is pretty great, actually...but-” Full of frustration, although at this point it was just wearing on his circuits like dealing with a new spark, “Yes, Rodimus?” 

Hesitantly, the sports car looked up, “If you really need to disburse your charge and you don’t mind, I guess I wouldn’t mind-” He was interrupted again by two white clawed servos promptly picking him up by the waist and depositing him onto the berth. Which caused a little confused yelp as he was far from accustomed to anyone, seriously anyone, just manhandling him like that. 

Ruby optics gazed at him, nearly boring into him, expression stock serious. “A simple ‘yes’ will suffice.” Nodding dumbly, finding himself considerably more wound up with the red glow of the warrior’s optics lighting the curves of his frame, the young captain managed, “Yes, yes let’s do it.” Nearly growling, the jet swung his legs over his captain, pinning his hips to the berth with his own.   
“That’s more like it. Now, if you say no to anything I do or ‘stop’, or at anytime, this will end. So, Captain, suggest you choose your words wisely if you are enjoying yourself.” This, the smaller mech realized, was probably the closest he’d ever seen the warrior to having a slag eating grin. It was actually, disturbingly hot. 

 

“Okay then, but, uh, are you at least gonna warm me up fr-” yet again his question was cut off, but being that it was stopped by lips stealing his, plating nearly crackling with charge already, he could let that go. The older mech released the kiss just as his playmate for the evening was just starting to get into it. “Of course, I might be charged up, but I’m not a ruffian in the berth.” Although any suggestions to or for that was disrupted by the sharp denta wrapping around Rodimus’s porcelain white neck. 

That would do nicely, and to show it, one red leg strut swung over the purple back as he moaned against the attention. It was evident with every touch that Cyclonus didn’t need any help being wound up. However the captain still seemed a bit hesitant. Rumbling near his audials again, one servo diving between his legs to tease over wires in his hips and panel, “Is there anything that you like, in particular? Do you perhaps want me to continue the dirty ‘Bad bot” talk from earlier?” 

The sound that Roddi made may have been a whimper, but he’d never acknowledge it. With his hips desperately trying to gain traction under the clawed servos, he nodded weakly. “Sure, or whatever, I don’t care, but keep talking and call me Captain-aaha.” Without much effort, his spike began to stress against the heated housing, causing him to squirm with anticipation. 

“Hmmmm, yes, of course, Captain Rodimus hehehe.” Such a ridiculously villainous sounding chuckle didn’t have any right under military law to sound so attractive. The good captain found his back arching off of the berth as the warrior nipped and licked over his neck, sucking on the lines. There was an audible disappointed gasp as the skeletal mouth left. One of the clawed servos pinched at sensitive wires between his hips and thigh, teasing the tips of the sharp edges against the lines of his panel. The other played, tracing the shapes of abdominal plating, dipping between the biolights burning there. If the sports car wasn’t wrong, and he didn’t feel wrong at the moment, strangely, he could swear that the old mech was actually being tender with him. 

Daring for a moment to meet optics, he was almost overwhelmed by the expression. Lust, just barely being held in check by a code of etiquette he extended to berth partners. The desire could be felt as the claws dragged between his joints and seams, forced by a hair’s breadth from digging into red and yellow armor with zeal. With the slightest air of resignation, he grumbled, “You are very pretty, Captain Rodimus, I like you like this...moaning and otherwise silent.” “Frag you, Cyclonus.” Dipping his head to mouth over the heated panel, red hips moved up of their own accord as he gasped. “There’s that spirit.” The comment made all the more painful to endure as he could feel the robust chuckle of amusement so close to his interface equipment.

It seemed as if playtime was almost over now, judging by the servos groping at thighs and waist, Cy increased the pressure against the warm panel with his glossa. The excess charge from his own frame creating little pleasurable zaps of energy against his plating. In a gravelly voice, he commanded, not suggested, “Open.” There was no resistance from the red mech’s end, panel nearly flying open, quickly followed by his spike rising from behind it’s housing. 

To the jet’s credit, he had already done a better job of getting him aroused than most of his other partners, who apparently had expected Rodimus to do all the dirty work or be constantly leaking lubricant. His partner gave a groan as the sight of the first drops of fluid eased out of the rim of the plush valve. The silvery fluid just barely lit by his dim optics.  
That wouldn’t be enough for him however, especially considering his condition. With no hesitation, he mouthed along the entrance, lathing his glossa against the conductive platelets surrounding it. Stifling a moan, Rodimus attempted to push his hips against the eager mouth, only to have them forced down by strong servos that trapped them. Two digits sliding against his spike distracted him further, and the purple mech growled at him seductively, “Don’t you dare try and hold back those sounds. I want to hear all of them.” 

The captain may not have been his top choice or a sex kitten, but he wanted this to be as enjoyable as possible, something better remembered than forgotten, considering that there wouldn’t likely be a repeat performance. Rodimus had his servos grasping desperately at the sides of the berth as the jet lifted his hips up,throwing legs over each of his shoulders. Judging by the way his body shaked and the whimpers coming out of his mouth, this was certainly doing the trick. Cyclonus hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet, though that’s where it was headed. Sitting on his knees with the infamous playmech draped over him like living armor, he nosed inside of the warm valve, rumbling as the first real taste of lubricant washed over his glossa. A little come hither action from the tip against the folds inside had Roddy seeing stars. 

“Whaa-where, did you learn how to AAhhaa, that?” Every single torturous lick and suck against the sensitive mesh had shocks running through his system, partly due to the high current the other mech already had going, part from underuse of his valve. “It’s called experience Captain, and there is no substitute for it.” This was emphasised by managing to roll his glossa over outer platelets to inside of the slick valve with one long torturous swoop. A choked sob escaped the red mech as his optics nearly rolled back into his head, going limp for a moment from the overwhelming sensation. Undeterred, Cyclonus rubbed the joints of hips methodically as he continued his pampering of the tight hole. Not satisfied to stop until the room was filled with the sounds of lubricant squelching over his mouth. 

Finally letting the younger mech lay down against the berth fully, he wiped the corner of his mouth of the silver fluid, optics dim but intense, like a dangerous jewel surrounded by black velvet. Roddy’s systems hiccuped for a moment absorbing that gaze, his own face slack from being lost in sensation. “Are you quite ready then, Captain Rodimus?” 

“Ahahaaa, wait, you mean I can’t just sit here and get eaten out for another couple of hours?” He smiled half-cocked, not yet able to completely shake off his act of bravado. What wasn’t funny was the look he got back, like a predator toying with his helpless prey. “Hmm, perhaps I’m losing my edge, hadn’t thought you’d be able to form full sentences after that.” Not that the red mech was about to admit it, but he was surprised about that too. His internals weren’t completely melted yet, but the older partner had certainly given it an admirable attempt. 

As the warrior slid off the berth, the younger mech just barely had presence of mind to look as the purple panel quickly folded away, revealing a nearly all purple spike with white undersides. Not elaborately decorated like his own, but decorations didn’t mean anything against a poor performance. More important at the moment, is that it twitched with need as hot metal met cool air. The outside edge of his equipment responded in kind as the desire to be filled hit him like an electric whip. Solemnly observing the reaction, Cyclonus dragged the red aft to the end of the berth, allowing the one of cloven pedes and legs to hang off the side while the other rested against his chest “Like what you see, do you?” 

Rodimus almost protested that, but couldn’t after the head of the purple spike nudged against the entrance. Energy crackled between them as the thick member grazed the wet hole. “Now...Captain, if you don’t mind, either wrap your legs around me or get ready to be fragged across the berth. Either way is fine for me.” Startled, both thighs spread wide as he followed the suggestion, the movement forcing the head of the charged cord inside of him. The younger mech’s valve was incredibly slick and warm, exactly what Cyclonus needed after nights of trying to get rid of his charge with a simple device. Warm, and very reciprocating, as he slid further inside, the rows of magnets pulled against his length, drawing up his charge even further. The way the soft mesh lining parted around his ridges didn’t hurt one bit either. 

It was incredibly tempting to simply stab straight through, overload and be done with it. Growling in concentration, the jet grinded further inside, testing the limits of his own self control as the mech in front of him gasped and moaned through the exquisite torture. It wasn’t difficult to tell how hard the older mech was holding back, the clawed digits over his waist, pulling him forward, dented his plating with the force of their grip. 

Sheathing all the way to the hilt, Cyclonus let out a shuttered groan, whole body shaking with the effort of not ravishing the younger mech. He curled over Rodimus, who took the opportunity to desperately steal a kiss, optics furrowed with pleasure. He grabbed on to both horns to steer Cyc in the right direction, namely his needy mouth.   
“Please, just, for Primus sake, move!” ,he whined. The urgent twitching of his hips as he tried to gain friction against his valve caused the old warrior to growl out. Biting down fiercely on his shoulder joints as he began to roll his hips against the young braggart. His partner let out a long shuttered moan. Satisfied he’d shut him up, he sat back up, putting both pedes into a solid stance, beginning to thrust in earnest against the limber mech. Every hit had the sport’s car nearly hissing static, straining his vocalizer to do anything more than cry out. 

There was something very charming about Rodimus with his spoiler grinding against the berth while his spike bobbed with every meeting of their groins. Pretty and large mouth hanging open in awe, it was probably good for sucking spike with. It was certainly good for kissing, even if it’s owner wasn’t particularly talented at that either. For his part, the younger mech managed to near drunkenly open his opics, still confused at how arousing Cyclonus looked with red thighs wrapped around his hips, ruby optics dull with arousal and concentration as he fragged his frame into the berth. Slipping his clawed servos to hold the red hips, he quickened his pace a bit, biting at his lower lip as the ridges of his spike throttled up the charge between them. “You, ah-Aren’t so bad at this. Perhaps not a porn star, but not bad.” it certainly was good enough for his purposes at the moment, which was to ramp up his charge as high as possible and release it all at once. 

For his part, Rodimus wasn’t sure if that was a genuinely backhanded compliment or an attempt to make him try harder. Quivering with a strange mix of pleasure and anger, he tried to knock his hips to meet his partner. Earning a grunt from the warrior as the intensity of his thrusting increased. The connectors near the back of his valve lit up like an explosion. Causing his frame to spasm and tighten his grip as overload neared. Fans struggled to cool down his body, all pointless as the charge amped up even higher. In a final effort to to recover some of his lost pride, he gritted through clenched denta, “Is that the best you got old mech?” 

There wasn’t much time for those words to be regretted. Cyclonus growled and drove his spike into the quivering port, lubricant soaking it while his partner rode out the bucking for all it was worth. His red frame crested up off the berth as the charge finally built up to it’s peak, washing over him like a tidal wave. The not Decepticon wanted to laugh at how his partner had managed to climax before him, but he was still gripped in the throes of the heat. Rigorously knocking their arrays together, there was a feral growl as his claws dug into the top of hip joints, digging eight or so deep scratches into the red paint. 

The contractions traveling through Roddy’s swollen valve unconsciously tightened around the girth of his cord, finally sending a massive, overdue, overload through the warrior’s circuits and plating. Growling as his transfluid spilled into the enclosing port. Before he fell over onto the younger mech, spent, Cyclonus took great satisfaction in noting that the slag eating grin had finally been fragged right off of his Captain’s face. The only expression left being dull, dumb pleasure. 

No longer being of a mind, his spike stiffly slipped out, retracting behind his cover, finally sated for the first time in days. The red mech’s equipment also closed at some point, most likely after he passed out on top of him. When Rodimus finally woke to various internal warnings to refuel, it took him a couple of moments to remember the source of the object pinning him to the berth. 

“Cyclonus, hey, HEY, get up! You’re crushing me!” One red optic met his gaze as he weakly attempted to push the other body off of him. “Hurm..Why are you still here?” Dumbfounded, Roddy shot back, “You are laying on me.” Although the honest answer was that he’d been faced’ into a stasis nap. The jet simply retorted, “I can’t move. Too low on energy.” 

If all of his interface array wasn’t still tingling with charge and sensitivity right now, he’d be enraged. “Well mighty warrior, why don’t you at least lift half of your heavy aft up so I can get out?” That did it alright, Cyclonus somehow finding the strength to lift his upper half up, if only out of anger. Slipping out from under him as if his legs were made from jelly, the sports car finally fell to the side of the berth, groaning as his sensitive aft hit the floor. It was going to have to be straight to the med bay after this. Worth it though. 

Peering out from the top of the berth, still very much as he had left him, the older mech only dained to half turn his face to Rodimus from his very comfortable position. Muttering softly, so softly that it might have been mistaken for engine noise had the room not otherwise been so quiet, “You know...you weren’t half bad..didn’t do much, but considering the circumstances, it was fine, Captain.”   
Huffing and wanting to cross his arms, Rodimus started to retort, “Well you- you...gggrr, this wasn’t my idea to begin with you know...Not that you did too poorly.” That part actually got a world weary huff of air that could be mistaken for a laugh.   
“Of course. Well, you don’t have to be amazing at everything you know...and, thank you for helping me.” Intentionally of course, the jet had delayed his own overload and it had the effect of making it considerably more intense, most of the bothersome charge leaving him, hopefully letting him get back to normal. 

That last part had actually sounded a tiny bit encouraging, and there was even a thank you? What was next? Old Cybertronian love ballads? Subspacing a rag, he cleaned the considerable mess from between his legs as he stood up. Worryingly aroused again by the sight of transfluid mixed with lubricant that escaped. He looked back to the jet, who still hadn’t moved, and probably wouldn’t be able to for a while. Finally blurting out, “Yeah...well..you’re welcome, I guess. I’m...gonna go see Ratchet about these scratches.” He turned around, headed for the door.

Now that the extra charge was gone, the old warrior was more amused to admit to himself that he was happy to see Rodimus go, but what he really liked was to watch him leave. One hand hovering over the door frame, he turned around to the jet still laying there in a pool of their combined fluids. “One last thing, this never leaves this room, that’s an order.” Half smirking, he replied, “Of course, Captain Rodimus.”


End file.
